Scandal
by roodwook
Summary: femslash Drarry set vaguely in HBP. In which Draco is a git with all the charm and personality of a blast ended skrewt, Harry has the temper of a hungarian horntail and losers for friends, Hermione is hot but blissfully ignorant, Ron has the temperament of a puppy, and the year ends with more scandal than Harry's ever seen before. Genderbend. Draco redemption arc. Slow build.
1. Chapter 1

"Harry!"

"Hermione!"

Hermione had grown in the last summer holidays; he was reaching about 5 foot ten, with a mop of curly dark hair and big brown eyes and freckles upon his nose. Harry had never been so relieved to see him; the holidays with her aunt and uncle had been hellish, and Hermione represented the magical life she had so sorely missed. She hadn't been able to cast a single spell since she left Hogwarts. She was pretty sure her spellcasting would be dreadful when he came back to start NEWTs, she thought gloomily, although since Hermione was muggle born, he hadn't been able to practice either. Although, Harry would bet her Firebolt that Hermione had spent about half of his summer with his long nose buried in a book; he could probably already recite half of the NEWT syllabus.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, as they picked up their bags and boarded the train.

"Oh, I think she's saying goodbye to her mum," Hermione replied. "She'll be up in a second. I think the family had some massive kind of revelation thing at the last second. Dean and Gin dating, I think."

"Ah," Harry said wisely. "Sounds like they're getting pretty serious, then?"

"Yeah," Hermione affirmed. He swung open a door to be greeted by Neville scrambling around on the floor. "Toad?"

"Yes," Neville replied. She slumped against the chair and stretched her legs out. "I guess one day I'll have to stop bringing him. I just lose him all the time. He obviously doesn't want to be with me."

"No, Neville," Harry said, as Hermione stood silently by the door, looking characteristically awkward. Harry dropped to her knees next to Neville. "He probably just enjoys the exercise. He'll come back – he always does."

"Thanks Harry," Neville beamed, as Harry gestured frantically to Hermione behind her back to shut the door, and then turned back to Neville with as much of a compassionate expression as she could manage, while Neville expanded on her frog problem. "I think it's a social thing. Maybe if I got another toad -"

Thankfully, Harry was soon spared from the horrifying vision by her other best friend.

"Hey, guys!" Ron beamed as she bounded into the room, followed by Luna, who was looking at a spot on the wall with an unexpected amount of interest. Unless you knew Luna. And then you probably were used to much weirder.

"Hey," Harry greeted her as she plopped haphazardly onto a seat, running a finger through her mess of knotted hair absent mindedly. "How did the whole Dean/Gin thing go?"

"Oh, it was awful," Ron began. "You know how much of a mummy's boy Gin is. When he said he was seeing someone in the year above, she went absolutely ballistic. Said a lot of things like 'cougars' and 'starting young' and 'cradle snatching'... Pretty sure she's not going to be invited to the family dinner any time soon. Of course, I ran out of my stack of extendable ears, so I could only hear the things she shouted."

"Yikes," Harry said, and Neville winced sympathetically. Luna was watching Ron intently.

"You must have put about half a stone on since I last saw you, Ron," he said, picking up his edition of _The Quibbler_. "You look great."

Ron seemed to be torn between bemusement, gratitude and anger, but decided to ignore Luna, who was now reading an article called 'The Horned Wrackspurt – a solution for knee pain in the wizarding world?'

"I wouldn't say that, Lovegood," A voice drawled from behind them.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Harry said dispiritedly. Malfoy being a stuck-up cunt on the train was a tradition, like the trolley lady but far more unpleasant. "Can't you find someone else to annoy?"

"Oh no, I save that pleasure for the _chosen one_ ," Malfoy replied, voice dripping in sarcasm, as she walked into the compartment. "I actually came with a message for you, Potty."

"I'm not interested," Harry muttered, looking briefly up at Malfoy. She was as irritating as ever, with her ruby rose smirk, mean grey eyes, curled hair, and skirt SO TIGHT Harry was sure it was against the regulations of Hogwarts. Screw that, it was probably against the _law_. How was the world meant to go round if you could see that much leg? They were nice legs, hairless and creamy coloured, and Harry wanted to hit them with a stinging hex more than anything. Perfection, in all areas, annoyed the wits out of her.

Malfoy rolled her eyes. "You seem to be a bit too interested in my legs. Sorry, Potter, you're not my type."

"You've got a bit too much vagina for me to be interested, Malfoy," Harry replied absentmindedly. "I was thinking about how much I would like to hex you, if you must know."

Malfoy grinned, a sly, devious grin and she cast her eyes around the room: at Neville, who had found Trevor, and was now scolding him; Hermione, elbow deep in _Arithmancy in an Astronomical context_ ; Ron, who was trying to untangle a particularly stubborn knot, while swearing profusely, and Luna, who was waving her wand while muttering quietly, eyes fixed on an article of _The Quibbler_. "You might bring me down if you all try at once. I doubt of this has any more magical power than a squib. Especially you, Longbottom. No more aurors in your family, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," Harry retaliated, gritting her teeth. "Shame you can't say there'll be no more death eaters in yours."

"Oh, is that supposed to wound me?" Malfoy put her hand to her chest in mock hurt – and really, that top looked the size of a dishcloth, how did she get away with so openly flaunting the dress code? "You and I have different perceptions of honour, Potter."

"I'm glad you do," Hermione interjected, putting his book down and giving Malfoy a steely glance.

Malfoy always seemed to be more threatened by Hermione than anyone else: he ignored Ron, except when he was calling her a fat cow, and took delight in annoying Harry, but Harry knew Slytherins worked on a strict social hierarchy. Hermione, with his height, his deep gravelly voice, and his grades, occupied a niche spot that Malfoy couldn't quite pinpoint, although she was still happy to label him a loser.

"Get back to your Slytherins, Malfoy," Ron took over, as Harry sunk back beside Neville and comforted her – the dig about her parents had clearly hurt. "We don't need death eater scum in here."

Malfoy drew herself up to her full height – about 5 foot 8 – and with a last, calculating glance, she swept out of the room, just before the trolley lady arrived. The clamour for pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, Bertie Bott's every flavour beans, and Fizzing Whizabees began and soon Malfoy was forgotten.

"It's weird," Harry said, climbing out of the carriage later, full to the brim with chocolate frogs and pastries, "that we're in NEWT level now. I always thought of us as kids, you know? And now that we're nearly adults..."

"Ugh, don't think about that, mate," said Ron with feeling.

"I wonder how much harder the lessons will be?"

The duo glared at Hermione.

"Hermione, we've not even at school yet, don't make us think about lessons," Ron pleaded. "My brain will start hurting."

Harry seconded the opinion with vigour, and the trio (now containing a slightly grumpy Hermione) trudged slowly down towards the great hall, each of them being thoroughly sick of seeing the sorting. The first year, it was kind of cool, but after 5 years at Hogwarts...

Five years, Harry thought with wonder, staring around at the old, wizened oak trees that lined the path to the castle. They were turning golden and brown and there was already a few leaves littering the floor, crunching as she stepped on them. She felt a joyous feeling, like she was heading home; like home was Hogwarts and Hermione and Ron and laughing with chocolate frogs in their mouths on the train. Hermione and Ron were, predictably, bickering; always an amusing sight since there was nearly a foot difference in height between them, but Harry decided she couldn't be drawn away from this moment, not until they reached the shouting and general pandemonium that was the great hall feast.

Unfortunately, that moment came all too soon, and they walked in to a general chatter and the beautiful architecture of the great hall. They headed towards the Gryffindor table, squeezing themselves in amongst Seamus, Neville and Dean, with sounds of indignation from the table following. "Just because you're the golden girl doesn't mean you can show up late!" a voice Harry didn't recognise called, which drew a large amount of applause and general agreement.

Harry didn't even care. The feast was full of chicken, and turkey, and roast potatoes, and oh my gosh he had missed food from the hands of the house elves. Sure, it was bad they were slaves (Hermione had drilled that into him during the SPEW days), but _man_ , could they cook.

"So, Dean, how are you and Gin doing?" Ron asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "I heard things are getting pretty serious."

Dean shrugged. "Well, we're in school at the end of the day, it's not like we're going to end up married – well, I suppose we might –" she looked vaguely perturbed at this - " but I just don't think it should be a big deal. My mum was fine with it."

"Ay, but she used to sleep around a lot when she was your age, didn't she, so it would make her a bit of a hypocrite if she objected," Seamus said, tactlessly as always, albeit fairly reasonably.

Dean elbowed her in the side. "I wish I'd never told you the cucumber pie story," she sighed, cutting particularly viciously into a portion of bean casserole. "Besides even if – if –" this if was punctuated by a pointed stare at Seamus –"she was sleeping around, this is totally not the same thing! It's not like I'm just trying to get him in the sack."

"Have you got him in the sack?" Ron asked, leaning forward across the table.

Hermione promptly choked on a boiled potato, so Neville thumped him heartily on the back, though not taking her attention away from Dean while he did so. Ignoring Hermione's spluttered 'thank you's, she added, "Come on, you must have done it by now. When Seamus went out with Jack Whiting she was fucking him within a week."

"It was big," Seamus shrugged, in what seemed to be an attempt at justification. Ron nodded sympathetically.

"We don't have that sort of relationship," Dean said. "I mean – he's fifteen – that's illegal anyway. It's just sort of – fun. I mean, I think it's good we can be like that, you don't want to spend being fifteen being all too serious about shit like that."

All eyes swivelled onto Harry.

"Are we not finished berating me on this topic?" Harry grumbled, adding butter to her potatoes.

Ron shook her head. "No."

"It was wet," Hermione mimicked.

"Yeah, like you've got so much experience," Harry shot back half-heartedly.

"Actually," Hermione lowered his voice, "you know Daphne Greengrass?"

"In Slytherin?" Ron asked, her eyes boggled.

"Yep," Hermione leaned back with a satisfied grin on his face.

"No way," Seamus said in awe.

"How did it happen?" Neville asked, his eyes wide.

"I was tutoring her for her Transfiguration NEWT," Hermione began, "And she really started opening up to me."

"To you?" Neville raised her eyebrows. "No offence, Herm, but you're not exactly the feelings type."

"I know," said Hermione in a deadpan voice. "It was fucking terrifying. But she told me a lot of useful information. Did you know when Blaise got high she streaked the Quidditch pitch naked and her mother had to buy the story out of _The Prophet_ so it wouldn't get printed? Apparently she's minted because she stole all her husbands' money. Husbands in the plural, by the way."

"Herm, that's not that interesting," Harry interjected.

Hermione furrowed his brow. "Oh. Well, I think it is."

"You think the theory behind Elemental Abstract-Defined Transfiguration is interesting," Ron pointed out.

"Work is important, Ron," Hermione reprimanded. "It's what we're in school for."

"Unless you're Seamus, in which case you're here to be a whore," said Dean, receiving a kick and a reprimand in return.

"Well, I'm done eating," Ron said, exhaling slowly. "Herm? Harry? You guys coming?"

Harry gave one last wistful glance at the Sorbet before deciding she couldn't (well, shouldn't, if she was completely honest) have any more. Both she and Hermione clambered to their feet, deciding it would be best to go with Ron before the influx of over-eager first years checked into their dormitories. First years, Harry thought with an internal shudder. They got more whiny and annoying every year. Having someone near you gasp in awe about _every little thing_ wore on your nerves, especially after half a decade. Wow, the staircases move. Big fucking deal.

Ron had evidently noticed the grumpy expression on her face, because she was looking at her curiously. Hermione however, as always, remained blissfully unaware; feelings had never been his strong point. The trio each brought something different to the group; Hermione was intelligent, dependable and unfazed, Ron was excitable, bubbly and inquisitive, and Harry - well, Harry wasn't really sure what she brought to the group, if she was completely honest. Harry had a tendency to be more up and down than the others - more volatile, more temperamental, more likely to explode. More unpredictable, she supposed. Hermione and Ron had set values in life, set goals; but Harry - well, thinking you could be murdered by the greatest dark wizard of all time kind of made you more prone to living in the moment. Shoving life into as little time as possible.

She was aware that her expression had probably turned more and more gloomy, so she squeezed Ron's hand tight, just as they all turned the corner and ran into Malfoy.

"I thought you said you didn't bat for the other team, Potter?"

"Just because you can't get a boyfriend doesn't mean you have to take it out from us, Malfoy," Harry replied.

It seemed she had hit a nerve, so Harry continued, feeling rather emboldened.

"If you had someone who wanted you, you wouldn't spend all this time berating us," she added. Looking behind her, she couldn't see her cronies, and she wasn't heading away from the great hall; she was coming from the opposite direction. "Didn't have enough friends to attend the feast with?"

Draco whipped out her wand, Harry following a fraction of a second later. They pointed their wands at each other, threatening glares in their eyes.

"Listen, Potty," Draco said scathingly. "People do want me. In a few months time, your pretty little head will explode with the knowledge of what I'm doing, and the ignorance you had now. And," she surveyed her target, who stood there in front of her, trembling, "I bet your parents wouldn't want you even if they were alive. So shut the fuck up about things you have no idea about."

Harry's blood boiled, and she shot a stinging hex right into Malfoy's face before Malfoy could cast a shield charm. Bellowing in pain, Draco shot curses blindly at Harry, and eventually they were shouting whatever curses they could think of while punching every inch of the other they could reach. Harry vaguely heard McGonogall's voice through the ringing in her ears, and as she turned to look up, one last punch from Malfoy made everything go black.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry woke, it was to the clean, bleached smell of the Infirmary Wing, with a dull ache in her temples and a sore nose. The infirmary appeared to be empty, judging by the silence that cloaked the room – hardly surprising, Harry thought gloomily, as not many people landed themselves in here on the first day of term. That also explained why she didn't have any visitors; judging from the light streaming in through the windows, it must be well into the morning. Hermione and Ron were probably in lessons – or frees, she supposed, remembering with a jolt her new status as a NEWT student. Trust her to start the year off with a bang. It was bloody Malfoy's fault, anyway.

She automatically reached for her wand on the table, but to her dismay her bedside table only had her glasses on it. Having shoved them onto her face and trying to tame her hair enough to get it out of the way of her eyes (there must be some sort of spell for that; Harry vowed to ask Hermione as soon as she got out), she gingerly got to her feet, heading towards the water on the shelf in the corner of the room. She figured she must have spent at least fifteen hours in the hospital wing, and her throat was parched and thick.

"Morning, Miss Potter."

Harry turned round hastily, wobbling a little, to face Madam Pomfrey, who, standing there with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, looked more than slightly cross.

"Morning, Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied, her voice scratchy. She hurriedly took a sip of some water. "How long have I been here?"

"Sixteen hours," Madam Pomfrey answered, in an unimpressed voice. "Miss Malfoy managed to give you concussion, as well as break your nose. I thought a long sleep might benefit you, long term. Now, I have a potion to help with the concussion, and I've fixed your nose back in place, but I'm afraid you're going to have to take it easy for the next day or two."

"I'm not going to be stuck in here, am I?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Professors. McGonagall and Snape are on their way to see you both here," she replied. "After that, you will be free to go, assuming you feel well enough, of course."

"Both?"

"Yes, Potter," a voice drawled from behind the curtain.

Harry yanked the curtain back to see Malfoy sprawled on the adjacent bed to hers. One of her eyes was ringed with purple and she looked pale, without her natural dose of makeup, but other than that she looked okay. She was wrapped carelessly in a thin blue dressing gown, since, as it had only just turned September, the temperatures of summer still remained. It was odd to see Malfoy without her make up, clothes, and well done up air; it almost felt like Harry was intruding on something private, as if Malfoy were vulnerable and naked.

"Where are our wands?" Harry asked, ripping her gaze away from the sight.

"It was thought prudent to confiscate them," Madam Pomfrey said, "for the time being, at least. You two have set the record for the earliest serious fight in Hogwarts history."

As she said this, she was pouring a violet potion out of a vial into a small shot glass sized cup. With a few taps on the liquid with her wand, Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied, and turned to Harry, holding it out.

The potion smelt like Lavender, but a putrid, strong lavender that made Harry's nose hurt. "Madam Pomfrey…?" she began half heartedly, but the woman only shot her a stern look, before hurrying over to Malfoy and giving her a quick once-over with her wand.

Harry looked once more at the potion, and then downed it quickly like a shot. The potion seemed to blaze through her mind, making her more alert and more awake, albeit with a vaguely uncomfortable fiery sensation at her temples.

"36.8," Madam Pomfrey announced, waving her wand finally with a flourish. "You're fine, Miss Malfoy. Just keep applying the gel to underneath your eye and the swelling should go down soon. You're going to have to wait for the colour to fade, though."

"That's okay, I can handle that," Malfoy said absentmindedly, stroking around her black eye with one of her fingers. "It's really the swelling that's the issue. I can't cover that."

Madam Pomfrey raised a eyebrow. "Miss Malfoy, this is not an _aesthetic_ problem."

"It is for me," Malfoy replied cheerily. "I have a reputation to uphold. I have people to impress."

Madam Pomfrey's argument was interrupted by the sound of the infirmary doors swinging open as McGonogall and Snape strode towards them, McGonogall looking serious and disappointed, and Snape looking as bitter and miserable as ever.

"Harry, Draco," Professor McGonogall began, conjuring up some seats near their bed and promptly taking the nearest one, a deep, squishy armchair with velvet cushions. Snape grudgingly sat by her side, turning his nose up at the décor. "I must say, this is a first for the school."

"Fighting before lessons had even started," Snape continued, mean eyes staring into Harry's. "In front of all the first years. An utter display of savagery."

"Draco was involved too," McGonagall interrupted, causing Snape to tear his gaze unwillingly from Harry's. "But Severus is right. This behaviour is unacceptable."

"Usually, it would be up to me to decide Draco's punishment, and McGonagall's for yours, Potter, but as the behaviour exhibited was so outrageous, Dumbledore has put in his own input."

Harry saw Malfoy's eyebrows fly up on her face. Dumbledore was the headmaster – he didn't get involved in the punishments for petty fights that occurred most days in the school. Harry hadn't even _seen_ Dumbledore this term, and here she was, a subject of disappointment already.

"We've taken your wands," informed Professor McGonagall, "As I'm sure Poppy will have told you. You will get them back. Under conditions. If you fight again, you will face a much harsher punishment than you will receive for this incident. We will put you under the Hogwart's equivalent of house arrest. That means food in your dorm alone, free time in your dorm, alone. You would only be allowed out for lessons."

"We hope it doesn't come to that," Snape said silkily, with an air that suggested he would like nothing more than to see it come to that, for Harry, at least.

"For now," McGonogall fixed them with a stern gaze, "we will be monitoring you closely, and taking your wands away after lessons. If you need to practice anything, you may come to one of us and ask for permission to have your wand back for an hour. Supervised."

"You've got to be kidding," Malfoy said, with a look of horror on her face. Harry stifled a giggle, imagining Malfoy going to the Slytherin dorms without a wand, with all the magical power of a first-year.

"I'm deadly serious," McGonogall assured her. "Until you two can show that you can get on together-"

"She's a death eater!"

"She's Potter!"

"She's a slag!"

"She's a bitch!"

"you will be under restrictions," McGonagall finished calmly. "Harry, I have your timetable and your wand here.

"you will be under restrictions," McGonagall finished calmly. "Harry, I have your timetable and your wand here. I have a few matters to discuss with you first."

"What about?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"Your subject choices - there has, as you would have been aware if you had attended the feast on time - been a change in Potions teaching."

"Snape's been fired?" Harry asked hopefully. Snape glared at her from across the room, before continuing to quietly talk to Malfoy.

"No, Potter," McGonagall reprimanded. "He merely has some extra work to do. Very important. A new professor - professor Slughorn - will be taking some of the Potions classes, and since there was an influx of NEWT potions students this year, they have agreed to each take on one set, Professor Snape taking on 'O' level students, and Professor Slughorn taking on 'E' level students."

"So I can do potions?"

"Certainly, miss Potter. Unless your dream is no longer to become an auror."

"No - no - it definitely is - but all of my stuff - I haven't bought anything -"

"Professor Slughorn will assist you," McGonagall interrupted, giving Harry a slight smile. "He is a most lighthearted man. Now your timetable is here. The next lesson starts at 11.30 and I expect you to be there."

With a stiff nod, she rose gracefully from her chair, vanished it with a quick flick of her wand, and strode out of the infirmary wing, leaving Harry to peruse her timetable. DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions... This year was shaping up to be a barrel of laughs. Divination may have been a shitty subject with a fraud for a teacher, but at least Harry and Ron had fun transfiguring teacups under the table and predicting the most gory, gruesome deaths they could think of for each other. She hadn't met the DADA or new potions teachers yet, but they were unlikely to be as lenient as Trelawney was – or as off their rocker, she thought dryly.

Casting a quick _tempus_ , she hurried out of the infirmary; she had about four minutes to get to DADA, and since it was the first lesson of the term with a new teacher, she didn't really want to start off the term any worse than she already had done.

Sliding into a seat next to Ron, Harry was relieved to see that the class hadn't filled up yet; although the new teacher was standing at the front. He was fairly old, with dark brown hair and kind eyes, and brightly coloured patchwork robes. He leant casually against the old, weathered desk, observing the class with a shrewd eye. Harry was surprised to see Malfoy slink into the back of the class; she thought just Dark Arts, without the Defence bit, would be more of Malfoy's thing. Malfoy seemed to excel in things that required lots of theory, as opposed to DADA, which was very much a practical-based subject.

"Well, now everyone's here," the mysterious teacher said in a calm voice, "let us begin."

The class quietened down immediately.

"I am ex-Auror Ramsdown," he began. "I have received the impression, talking to the school, that you have had a lot of disruption in this subject; so, I think we'll begin going through the important things you learnt at OWL level, just for some revision. I believe last year you had a serious deficiency of practical lessons?"

Several students chimed in in obvious agreement.

"Okay, let's divide into small groups," he decided, "and each of you work on something you found particularly difficult at NEWT level. See if the people around you can help you, and if not, I'm here to help."

Ron immediately grouped with Harry and an anxious-looking Neville, who, although she had improved a lot during the DA days, still wasn't the most competent at practical magic. They decided to start with the shield charm, since it was one of the things Neville was most wobbly at, and Ron was looking forward to casting some minor jinxes for Neville to deflect, in typical Ron fashion.

The trio (including Neville) were surprised to see the extent of Neville's improvement; clearly she had been practicing, since she came from a pure-blood family. Ron's face looked slightly sheepish; although Ron also came from a pure-blood family, Harry would bet that the most magic she had done all summer was accio-ing chocolate pudding from the kitchen. Harry didn't blame her. If Harry lived at the Burrow, she would do nothing but eat, ride her Firebolt, and sleep, not practice DADA spells.

"So, this new teacher seems nice, huh?" Ron commented, watching him adjust Seamus' wand movement. "It's cool to have someone that's actually been out in the field, you know?"

"We had Moody," Neville pointed out.

"He wasn't really in the field of defence though, was he," Harry pointed out, "he was in the field as a death eater that was working for Vol-" she looked at Neville's alarmed face and sighed – "you know who."

"Ah yeah," Neville sighed. "You know, I still don't really understand that story."

"No, me neither," Ron said, twirling her wand in her hand idly as she watched Lavender shoot a well-aimed jelly-legs jinx at Parvati. "Hey, Nev, jelly-legs jinx aren't technically defence are they? Or dark arts, really. It's more in the line of what Fred and George do, and that's certainly not defence..."

Harry vaguely heard Neville agree, but she was too busy looking over at the Slytherin side of the room to tune in to the conversation properly. Malfoy was partnered with Pansy Parkinson; with the build and intelligence of a troll, Harry was pretty sure he had just followed Malfoy into DADA because of his massive puppy crush on her. This was not the surprising sight; that was the sight of Malfoy with a concentrated expression on her face, expertly waving her wand in neat, concise strokes, deflecting the curses that Pansy was sending her. Mind you, Pansy probably wasn't trying that hard; Harry doubted he was actually sending any spells that might damage his precious little Draco. You had to admire her determination, though, Harry thought. In the Gryffindor-Slytherin class, there was a handful of Slytherins in their midst. Most of the Slytherins would probably be more persuaded to sign up for the class if it was just the Dark Arts.

"So, girls," the Professor interrupted, "What have you been working on?"

"Neville's been practising her Protego charm," Ron informed him. "She's got really good at it."

Neville smiled and blushed with pride. "And Ron was working on her jinxes. Caught me off guard with a few of them."

"Neville was great at knowing the anti-jinxes, though," Ron added.

"Bit hard for her to communicate that when you made her mute," Harry pointed out.

"So it seems, you two worked really well," the Professor said, though without a smile. He turned to Harry. "What did you do, Miss Potter?"

He said the last words in a tone that made Harry immediately wary.

"Well, I don't imagine you have that much to practice when you get a high O in your owl."

The sentence came from the mouth of the last person she'd expected. Harry turned round to see Draco Malfoy, hands on her hips, an eyebrow quirked up in challenge, with a look of fury on her face that Harry was all too used to.

"Even the best have areas to work on, Miss Malfoy," Ramsdown said silkily. "30 points from Slytherin and Gryffindor."

And with that, he strode away.


	3. Chapter 3

"That was as weird as hell," Ron commented when they were back in the common room, lounging on the rug beside the fire. Hermione was curled up on a nearby armchair, thumbing through a copy of _Healing Charms,_ patting Crooshanks absentmindedly while he purred.

"The Malfoy thing?" Harry asked. She shrugged. "Yeah, it was."

"Maybe she likes you now, Harry," Hermione said from behind his book.

Harry and Ron both turned to look at him with an incredulous look in their eye, then turned back to the fire with a mutter of " _Boys._ "

"I don't like her, regardless," Harry said. "You know, I'm sure she's up to something. And I think people are in on it too."

Hermione slid down from the armchair to join them. "What makes you say that?"

"Hermione, don't encourage her," Ron groaned, dropping her face into her hands.

"I just have a feeling," Harry began. "You know when we had that fight outside the Great Hall? She was on her own; I don't think she even went to the feast..."

"Maybe she's on a diet," Ron suggested.

"If she is, she's not doing that well at it," Hermione muttered.

"No, I don't think it's that, Harry continued, blocking out the other two, as she was custom to do. "She said I was going to be sorry, remember?"

"She pummelled your face about two seconds after, Harry," Hermione said reasonably. "I think you'd be sorry after that."

"You know, you think about Ferret a lot, Harry," Ron noted. "Look. You've already lost your wand for half of the time you're here. Stop thinking about her and just – steer clear, you know?"

"Steer clear?" Harry repeated. "Ron, this is a matter of international security!"

Ron snorted.

"I'm going to pull the _'I'm the chosen one'_ card one more time," Harry went on. "Remember all that stuff we did in first year? We weren't _meant_ to do any of that. We got punished for it! But it stopped us all from Voldemort!"

"Harry, Malfoy and Voldemort aren't quite comparable," Hermione reasoned. "For all the bravado that Malfoy puts on, I doubt she's capable of mass genocide."

"Is it technically genocide?" Ron asked.

"Well," Hermione replied, "By the definition most cited in literary documents, Voldemort's regime contains the main elements. Although, there is a difference in opinion of how organised the murder has to be, and how much, and Voldemort so far has-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, uncomfortable about his friend talking about the most terrible Dark Wizard of all time in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. "Quirrel didn't seem that bad at first either, did he?"

Ron shrugged. "She has a point. But you said this came from Dumbledore. Dumbledore wouldn't put you in a dangerous situation, would he?"

"Ah yes, because putting me face to face with V-man wasn't dangerous at all," Harry remarked in a dead pan voice.

"V-man?" Hermione repeated.

"The idea of Voldemort sleeping with anyone is just gross," Ron commented, screwing her nose up.

"He was pretty hot when he was younger," Harry said thoughtfully.

The other two stared at her.

"As much as I'm glad that you're moving on from Cho," Hermione said, "and Ron's brother, if you ever say that again I will _silencio_ you to high heaven."

"How is stuff on the dating scene, anyway?" Ron asked.

"Well, Ron, I'm a little bit too busy saving the world right now to be interested in a serious relationship," Harry said sarcastically. "Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

"That's no excuse, Harry," Hermione said reproachfully. "Ron and I are saving the world too."

Ron coughed a little and went red, and then reached for the exploding snap cards.

"You and Ron are going out?" Harry exclaimed.

"No, no," Hermione laughed, seemingly oblivious to the red tinge in Ron's cheeks, "I just mean that you're the only one lounging around with your V-card still intact."

"What?"

"You know, we could just not tell this story," Ron said hurriedly.

"What story?" Asked Dean, as she sat down, hand in hand with Ginny.

"Okay, well, now that my brother is here we are _definitely_ not telling it," Ron said.

"How come you didn't tell me?" Harry asked.

"I didn't tell him. Hermione heard it from Fred and George. They're quite pally."

Harry stretched out her legs on the floor, feeling vaguely shocked. Yes, she was sixteen, but that didn't mean she was weird for not jumping on the first guy she saw, right? She didn't really have much interest in it, she just saw it as something she knew would happen at some point in her life. A chore, she supposed. Maybe there was something wrong with her.

She zoned out of the resulting conversation, leaning slightly against Ron, who, she was sure, was feeling more than a bit awkward too. Ron was really insecure; when you came from a family of mostly girls, the pressure on you to look the best is high. Plus, she was kind of left out of the trio, in that respect; girls adored Hermione, with his dark brown eyes, straight nose, smirk, and indifferent air. Harry had a fanbase of sorts just from being the Chosen One. Ron was just Ron, with her tumbling red hair and curves and bright blue eyes; just another of many redheaded Weasley girls.

"Hey, Ron," Harry whispered, while Dean, Ginny, and Hermione were engaged in a strong debate about who was going to win the next Quidditch cup.

Ron turned to her, and Harry was struck by the freckles covering her face and the curves of her lips; things she'd never noticed before.

"I think you're beautiful."

Ron looked at her as if she was slightly deranged. "In a gay way?"

Harry elbowed her and laughed. "Yes, Ron, I'm actually a raging lesbian, shagging girls in broom closets and wearing rainbow hats." She observed the look of uncertainty on Ron's face. "Ron. I'm joking."

"Would explain why you're so obsessed with Malfoy," Ron shrugged.

"No. Ron. Don't even joke about that. Please."

Ron stuck her tongue out at Harry and linked arms with her. "Seriously though."

"I am being serious," Harry reassured her. "I was just paying you a compliment, you mong."

"Alright, can't blame a girl for asking," Ron grumbled, turning back towards their friends.

"Harry?" Colin Creevey popped up. "Harry – Draco Malfoy is at the door asking for you."

The room went quiet and Ron turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Completely unrelated," Harry muttered, before turning to stomp over to the portrait-hole.

Forty minutes later, Harry had the pleasure of being given back her wand for an hour. Although she'd only missed it for a few hours, she still felt an indescribable subtle joy at picking it up, like her arm was suddenly complete.

They had been left in an unused Charms room to practice. Harry was surprised that Draco had come, since she had so little practical work in her subjects – Arithmancy, Potions, Astronomy, Transfiguration and DADA. Plus, it was the first night. _Second night,_ Harry reminded herself. The first one she had spent asleep.

Malfoy ignored Harry for the most part, and seemed to be going over a long list of DADA charms – she cast a very good _Petrificus Totalus_ , but her _Relashio_ seemed to be going rather badly.

"Here, let me help."

Harry moved behind Draco, fitting easily against her like a glove, and went to take her hand to help show her the wand movement. Draco jumped away, fixing Harry with a scowl that made Harry throw her hands up in a sign of peace. "What was that?"

"Helping, Malfoy," Harry answered, nonplussed. "What's up?"

"We're not _friends_ , Potter," Malfoy spat. "We're enemies. We got into a fucking fight this time yesterday and now you're acting like we're best friends?"

"If we've got to be nice to each other, we might as well start now," Harry countered angrily. "You heard them. We can't have another fight again – they'll put us under house arrest-"

"Oh, no, how awful it must be for poor Harry Potter to be under house arrest," Draco replied scathingly, and Harry quickly realised her mistake – Draco's mother was currently under house arrest while Lucius was in Askaban. "I don't give a flying fuck what they do to me. Pigs will fly before _we_ are ever friends. Stay the hell away from me."

"I was trying to help, you PMSing bitch," Harry said, accidentally transforming a table leg into the shape of an alarmed looking turtle when her wand was turned away.

"I don't need help."

Draco turned her back to her and Harry could see her shaking, sniffing every once in a while.

"Draco –"

"You have no idea of the stuff I want to spill to you," Draco said in a low voice. "No idea. But I can't. I can't. This is all too hard –"

"Slow," Harry instructed. Draco turned to face her, and Harry could see tears on her face. "You can tell me whatever."

Draco laughed bitterly. "You're my sworn enemy," she said. "Every single time our paths touch something big happens. We need to just stay apart. I won't interfere with your life, you don't interfere with mine. Okay?"

"Yes, I'm sure you can just avoid me and stop making fun of all my friends," Harry replied sarcastically. "Is there even anything you do that isn't a part of that?"

Malfoy narrowed her eyes. "Just go fuck yourself, Potter. And stay the hell away from me."

"Fine," Harry replied angrily. She stomped to the other side of the room and began performing spells at random; tripling the number of desks, shrinking them to the size of a pea, flying them into the air...

Right. Probably not useful. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to remember what Professor Flitwick had said about Expansion charms. There was an abnormal amount of theory to them, as opposed to most charms, which were just _you-kind-of-do-it-or-you-don't_. Bless Neville, Harry thought fondly as she closed her eyes and tried to picture the cardboard box she was standing in front of expanding and yet shrinking, remaining in... what was it... _the same critical dimensions of this plane, while simply rearranging the laws of the space within._ She opened her eyes and waved her wand with a shout of _Expanso._ The box shuddered and started lightly smoking. Harry frowned, not completely sure that this was an ok reaction, and approached the box warily, lest some sort of foul beast appear from it. Upon inspection, the box looked the same as normal. She stuck her foot in it and nearly fell when the floor she was expecting didn't come. It seems Harry had overdone the spell a tad; she might have just expanso'd the box into the size of flipping Australia.

It occurred to Harry that she had no idea how to turn it back; the opposite of Expanso would make sense to be _Reducto,_ though. She shrugged, pulled back her wand, and jabbed it at the box, with a slightly dubious _Reducto!_

The box seemed to smash into pieces; bits of box flew everywhere and there was a deep hole gouged in the floor where it had lain. Harry spat the dust out of her mouth and viewed the extent of the damage; clearly, Reducto was not the opposite of Expanso.

Behind her, she heard Draco Malfoy laugh, and she felt a hysterical giggle come up from between her lips too, and she wondered in awe if this was the first time she had ever heard her laugh.

AN: The femslash begins in the next chapter or two. If you like the story please feel free to tell me, and if you don't, feel free to tell me that too!


	4. Chapter 4

The week passed by slowly and uneventfully.

Harry was doing better in potions, thanks to the book she's got from Slughorn, and since she was sharing the knowledge, the entire Gryffindor side of the class were outshining the Slytherins, much to the Slytherins' dismay.

"Harry," Hermione began yet again one evening they were in the Gryffindor common room, "You can't keep the book."

Ron gave him an affronted glare – she wasn't exactly a quick dab at Potions, and her Potions grade was improving so much thanks to the book. "Hermione, give it a rest."

"Gin trusted Voldemort's diary, Harry," Hermione reminded her, ignoring Ron. "That was a mistake, remember? No matter how nice it seemed." He gave his knitting a particularly vicious stab with his needle, causing a large hole to open up further down the scarf he was making.

"Hardly the same thing," Ron muttered, although casting a decidedly dubious glance at the book, which was resting on the table.

"It's not going to bite you, Ron," Harry said impatiently.

"You don't know that," Hermione pointed out.

Harry rolled her eyes and laid down across the sofa, shutting her eyes. "I need a brief break from your crazy."

"You _need_ to do your homework," Hermione pointed out. "Even Ron's doing hers."

Harry turned her head in shock to see a piece of paper in front of Ron with her loopy hurried writing covering three fifths of it.

"Hermione asked me to," Ron mumbled, her face tinged red. Harry peered at her curiously; she had always expected Ron had a bit of a thing for Hermione (along with every other girl in their year, except for her it seemed) but she had expected it to go fairly quickly. On the contrary, Ron's feelings seemed to have intensified over time, if she was doing _homework_ on the day after it was set. Harry wondered if Hermione knew, and then internally laughed at herself; Hermione may be clever and hot, but unfortunately emotions were not one of his strong points.

Well, unfortunately for Ron. Or maybe it was a good thing. Ron would probably be crushed if she received an outright refusal, and if they dated and then broke up, being friends with both of them would be hell on earth.

Harry resolved to find Ron a boyfriend ASAP.

"It's pig!" Ron yelled as a small, fluttery owl began banging itself against the window frantically. "Hang on – Pig – no stop that it's glass!"

Having brought a slightly concussed Pig back to their corner and sat him on her lap, she read her letter, while Hermione resumed her knitting and Harry thought, for the lack of better things to do.

The last week had been painfully dull. Lessons at NEWT level were no less boring than they were at OWL, and nothing had happened. Hermione and Ron seemed to enjoy the peace, but Harry hated it; the general monotony of classes, food, and sleep made her feel irritated out of her wits. She and Draco had had a few study sessions, but Harry hated them too; being cold faced by the other girl made her want to fight her, and, of course, she couldn't without serious consequences. She realised just how much she had come to depend on their fights to blow off steam – Harry found herself snapping and just generally being moody, which Ron and Hermione bore relatively well.

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed, "Charlie's met someone!"

"Really?" Asked Hermione, putting down his netting. "What is it, another dragon?"

"No," Ron said, seemingly ignoring Hermione's dig and looking back to the letter. "A guy called Mark. He works in the nearby village."

"Charlie's gay?" Hermione asked, shocked. "That's a bit gross..."

Ron and Harry fixed her with not-so-subtle glares.

"Only because I'm heterosexual," he added hastily. "I'm all for equality and shit. But guys doing it together... That literally _is_ equality and _shit_..."

Harry wrinkled her nose. "I didn't even think of that! Why did you make my brain conjure up that image?"

"Maybe the issue is that his mind goes straight to sex," Ron said in a deadpan voice, "Excusing the pun..." She looked at Harry. "Straight girls are meant to think it's hot, anyway.

"Not this _again_ ," Harry groaned, putting her face in her hands. "Just because I don't have the libido of an overactive rabbit does not mean I am a lesbian."

"No, that would make you asexual," Hermione interjected.

Harry fixed him with a glare and he withdrew back into his knitting.

"I'm only sixteen, anyway," she pointed out to nobody in particular. "Just because I'm not a whore-"

"Hey!" Ron interrupted, sounding affronted. "We're not whores!" She looked at Hermione, shrugged, and amended, "I'm not a whore."

"This is a ridiculous argument," Dean cut in, with Seamus by her side. "Nobody is when compared to Seamus, after all. That's really the benchmark we should be going off."

Hermione looked troubled. "Really?" He began counting on his fingers.

"I hear someone has the hots for you, Harry," Dean told her, ignoring Hermione. "Padma in Ravenclaw. You interested?"

"Parvati's twin?" Harry asked. She thought for a minute. "Nah. Not really. I don't want to get a boyfriend just for the sake of getting a boyfriend."

"Very good, Harry," Hermione approved, "You'll have more time to focus on school."

"Hermione," Harry said, shaking her head, "You literally change opinions every few minutes. Last week you were telling me I should get laid."

Seamus laughed, and Harry heard the phrase "conflicting interests" before Hermione punched her in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"We'd best get going for dinner," Ron announced, clambering to her feet. The others begrudgingly got to their feet as well, in varying degrees of eagerness; Seamus, who ate like a horse, was always hungry, but Dean needed some convincing.

Throughout the school, the corridors were clogged with students going to dinner – they should have got there early, Harry thought ruefully. She sighed and entered the mass of the student body, when suddenly, there was a bang and everything went black.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled across the general din, but as she went to reply, a hand slapped across her mouth and another arm twisted around her waist and pulled her into a cupboard. In the pandemonium, nobody noticed her go. A hand roughly grabbed her wand out of her pocket and Harry span around to see Draco Malfoy pointing her wand in her face.

She had a wild, crazy look in her eye. Her hair was as well done up as ever, perfectly curled and bleach blonde. Her face was made up, as usual, and her robes were perfect, but she had a general air of disorganisation and unruliness.

"You," She said, her voice dripping with venom.

Confused, Harry tried to think of what she had done to provoke this reaction, apart from just generally existing.

"I hate you."

"Same here…" Harry said warily.

"Shhhh," Draco crooned, putting a finger to her lips. She looked utterly mad. "I _really_ hate you, Potter. Did you know I have a boyfriend? Older year. Ravenclaw. Does all my homework for me. My task is going brilliant. Father is _so_ pleased with me. But I don't want a fucking hot boyfriend and eternal glory and all of that shit. I want _you_. Even though your hair is a fucking mess and you're a stuck-up cunt. I want to make you mine. I want everyone to know that the _golden girl_ wants me. I don't even fucking know what I want."

Harry was a tad shocked to hear this news, but felt a certain thrill run through her body at the words – Draco Malfoy. Wanted her. Harry was, after all, far less hot, and rather less talented, in all honesty. Draco was at the top of the food chain – and she wanted Harry.

She knew she was the chosen one, but for some reason, being chosen by Draco Malfoy meant more to her than being chosen by fate, or the universe, or whatever.

Because Draco was hot as fuck.

Harry remembered when she had told Ron she wasn't a lesbian, and filed it under 'things to reconsider at some point'.

"I want you," Draco repeated, and she stepped forwards, and then the space between them was nothing. Their lips met in a bruising kiss, and Draco made a small noise in the bottom of her throat and her restraint seemed to snap; one of her hands tangled itself in her hair, and another ran down her back. Harry pulled on Draco's curls, and cupped her face with one hand. Harry did not know what the hell she was doing – she had never even thought of this as a possibility before – but for some reason, It seemed to make sense. Draco's lips were velvety and smooth, and her hair was nice to pull, and when she did Draco made this little noise of contentment that caused a physical feeling in her stomach like someone had just punched her.

Harry's hands felt the gentle curve of Draco's back, and her chest pressed hard against her. She shoved a leg between the other girl's legs and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Harry felt a hard throbbing between her legs and she slid her hands up Draco's robes, revelling in the smooth touch of her skin. She broke the kiss to bite the creamy skin on Draco's neck, and Draco, evidently a fan of being rather audible, continued to make noises that a porn star would be proud of.

From the outside, they heard a shout of "There's someone in the broom cupboard!" and startled, they broke apart, big purple bruises blossoming on Draco's neck already.

"Shit," Draco breathed. "Fuck. Potter, we didn't do anything."

Harry only nodded dumbly as the door opened in front of them.


	5. Chapter 5

This is the update nobody asked for. I reread this story and fell in love with again.

Life went on as normal for Harry, except for one thing.  
Malfoy was avoiding her.  
"For fucks sake, Harry," Ron complained, as Harry had brought the matter up during a game of Wizard Chess a week later. "Isn't it good that she's ignoring you? No more jibes about your parents? Generally not having to be in the presence of a massive asshole?"  
Harry frowned. She hadn't told anyone about what happened with her and Draco in the cupboard, what they did, and she didn't think that Draco had either.  
"She looks really pale," Harry said, distractedly moving a castle four paces forward.  
"Harry, did you even consider the tactics there?" Hermione said exasperatedly, who was sitting there watching the game, Crooshanks settled in his lap. "Is Draco messing around with your brain?"  
"Maybe," Harry sighed, looking at her castle being roughly cast aside by Ron's bishop. "It's Draco, you know? Now she's not in my face all the time I notice her absence. And now she looks all pale and she skips meal times and she looks exhausted. And it's not like I'm going to join the 'I love Draco Malfoy' fanclub, but regardless..."  
"You need to give it up, mate," Ron said sympathetically.  
"As it happens, Harry, I think your reaction is completely logical," Hermione announced, causing Ron and Harry to stare at him in disbelief. "It's going to be weird having someone out of your life. You're right, also, that Draco is looking ill. I think it's stress. His schoolwork is being affected. Last lesson, he completely forgot the equation of the curvature of the Earth affecting our physical perspective on space. Of course, it was just a little thing, but..."  
Yes, Harry realised with a jolt, she did know Draco. Key word past tense. It was unsettling, watching her confidence drain slowly away. Thus was Harry's secret plan; help her sworn enemy.  
"Look, Harry," Ron said, "I know you have this weird saviour thing where you want to save everybody. But I don't think she wants to be saved. It's probably stress or something you can't help with. Don't worry about her. You need to think of some better ways to spend your time."  
"Like doing homework," Hermione suggested. "Or dating someone. There's a lot of good looking, nice guys in here. Just nab one and you won't be obsessed with Draco anymore."  
"He speaks the truth, Harry," Ron said, as she checkmated her with a flourish. "It'd be good for you to want someone."  
"You can't force feelings on someone," Harry shot at them, leaning back onto her palms. She suddenly felt socially exhausted. "But maybe you're right - if I do some more practice it might help me get it all out."  
"Yes," Hermione said approvingly. "That's a brilliant idea. Ron, would you like a game?"  
Ron blushed slightly - just a slight tint of pink underneath her freckled pale skin - and nodded, moving around the chessboard so that she and Hermione could play.  
Harry got her wand from the staffroom, and wandered about trying to find an emptyish classroom. When she found her usual one, she found Draco in there, and stood silently, watching.  
Draco was practicing a charm Harry had never seen before. She was waving her wand, lips muttering, clearly concentrating hard. Little smoky whisps were coming out of her wand.  
"Are you trying to make a patronus?"  
Draco whirled around in obvious shock. Her eyes widened when she saw Harry, standing in the doorway, her only viable way of exit.  
"I can help," Harry offered.  
"You can't help me," Draco sniffed, and Harry fought back a smile at the familiarity of her voice. "I'm not practicing a Patronus. I already taught myself that one."  
"Taught yourself?" Harry echoed, staring deep into Draco's misty coloured eyes, wishing she knew what was going on in her head. "That's pretty impressive."  
Draco only shrugged.  
"Can I see it?" Harry asked gently.  
Draco hesitated. "I know you, Potter. You'd just laugh at me. Which frankly is the last thing I need right now."  
Harry paused, trying to think of something else to say, but Draco rolled her eyes and cried, "Expecto Patronum!"  
Harry ducked instinctively as a huge patronus burst out of Draco's wand; she found herself staring into the soulful eyes of a whale, its long, elegant fins, huge, perfectly mermaid-shaped tail, and the large mouth opening and breathing as if it were straining.  
"I researched whales when I saw it," Draco said quietly. "All about the sounds they make to each other and their social circles and I think mine is a blue whale. But go ahead. I'm sure you're itching to make a size joke."  
But Harry wasn't even listening. The whale was massive and distinctively beautiful, cutting through the air gracefully. Draco huffed, flicked her wand, and the whale vanished, taking away its lovely golden warmth from her chest.  
"So you see, Potter," she said clearly, "I really don't need your help."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Positive."  
Harry turned and left the room, but instead of heading down the corridor, she waited outside the door.  
It took one minute before Harry heard the sniffs of a person trying to fight back tears.  
She didn't care. At this point, she didn't care anymore. She strode into the room and immediately enveloped a shocked Draco in a hug, despite the fact that she was a few inches shorter.  
Draco's sniffs stopped for a second, presumably in surprise, and then Harry felt what she was not expecting; Draco's arms weaving back around her waist, and her face buried into her shoulder. Draco's long blonde hair tickled Harry's face, her hands were firm around her, and she could feel her shoulder dripping with tears.  
They stood in silence, intertwined, Draco's sniffs eventually wearing out, for what felt like ages until Harry finally broke the silence.  
"Draco?"  
"I still hate you," a voice came, muffled, from her shoulder.  
Harry grinned, although there was nobody there to see. "Draco. We only have an hour. I think it's almost up."  
Draco's face emerged, cheeks still wet with tears, but Harry didn't let go of her.  
"I want to help you," she breathed, looking into Draco's mercury eyes.  
Draco looked at the floor - or rather their chests, pressed together. "I don't want to be helped. And our boobs are touching. We should fix that."  
"I think you do want to be helped," Harry said. "I think for some reason you can't."  
Draco punched her lightly on the shoulder. "You're still Potter, Potter. We're enemies."  
Harry shrugged. "You know what, Draco? I don't care. I want to help."  
"Wait," Draco whispered, disentangling herself from Harry. She shut her eyes, waved her wand, and a pulsating pale blue mist came out, hovering until Draco pushed it into a jar, where it continued to pulsate. "There."  
Harry stared at it blankly. "You've only just got to the level where you can conjure a coloured cloud?"  
"It's a record of how I felt in our conversation, Potter," Draco said. "Are your expectations of me really that low?"  
Harry considered the question. "I don't know what I can expect from you anymore," she said honestly, pulling on Draco's tie.  
Draco laughed. "What do you forsee me doing now?"  
"You're going to kiss me."  
Draco smiled. "You're wrong, I wasn't going to, but now that you insist..."  
Draco leant down and their lips met again, but slowly this time, and softly, just a gentle give and take that tugged at Harry's heartstrings. She pulled away far too soon and grinned. "You're still not my friend, Potter."  
"I'll take enemy who you talk to and sometimes kiss," Harry told her.  
Draco chuckled and pulled away from her grasp. "See you, Harry," she said, disappearing from the room.  
Harry, however, didn't move a muscle, because going through her head was the massive message of 'you are totally screwed'.

"How was your practice, Harry?" Hermione asked when she came back to the common room.  
Harry considered. "Err. It went OK."  
"I've never known you to do so much practice," he continued.  
"He's right, Harry," Ron said slowly, narrowing her eyes in a way that Harry didn't like. "He's right. Why the sudden work ethic?"  
"Err," Harry repeated.  
"After all," she continued, "You were so obsessed about that book that -"  
"I hated," Hermione piped in.  
"Exactly," Ron said. "And now all we've had is you griping. For weeks."  
"Well, that's not fair," Harry defended. "Everyone has an angsty phase."  
"I don't see you hanging around with a long fringe and MCR merch," Hermione remarked.  
"What's MCR?" Ron asked curiously.  
"An shit emo band that disbanded years ago," Hermione said. "With a lot of gay haircuts."  
Harry shifted slightly in her seat.  
Ron stared. "What is up with you, Harry?"  
"Nothing." Harry played with the hem of her robe. She'd decided not to buy a new one, since she hadn't really grown out of hers. There were a few patchy bits, though, where the fabrics had frayed.  
"You know, I am your best friend. You can tell me what's going on with you," Ron said softly.  
"I'm her best friend too!" Hermione said indignantly. "I think."  
"You're both my best friends," Harry said. She took in a deep breath. "Okay. Nothing's wrong."  
"Good," Hermione said. "That makes a change."  
"I have a crush on someone."  
"Err," Hermione said, "That's nice." He looked out of his depth.  
"On who?" Ron asked, looking absorbed.  
"Err," Harry said. "A girl."  
Ron's jaw dropped open.  
"That's good, Harry," Hermione said, "We can have that in common."  
"What?" Ron asked hoarsely. "You're a lesbian?"  
Harry shrugged.  
"When did this happen?"  
"Err." Harry thought. "I don't know. Like, a month ago."  
"That's a long crush," Hermione said.  
"Yes, I suppose it is," Harry said thoughtfully.  
"Why a girl?" Ron asked. "What's wrong with boys?"  
"Well," Harry said, "she's a good kisser and -"  
"Don't want to know," Ron said, recoiling.  
"I don't know why I like her," Harry said. "I don't know."


End file.
